


Gloves

by Somerandomauthorrr



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol, College AU, College!Ford, Ford/Reader - Freeform, Gen, Gravity Falls - Freeform, college!reader, drunk ford, ford doesn’t like his sixth finger, vomit mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:38:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somerandomauthorrr/pseuds/Somerandomauthorrr
Summary: Ford wears gloves.Five fingered gloves.





	1. College Parties

Ford never removed his black, cotton gloves.   
Ever.   
And Y/n noticed.   
Their very first encounter was when he clumsily spilled water on the front of their shirt. Quite a harmless stain, but Ford was apologizing like it was the end of the world.   
They noticed him attempting to write down notes, messily scrawling letters to form incoherent sentences to anyone except himself. They watched as he angrily mumbled about ‘rewriting them later’ before he slammed the notebook into his bag.   
Surprisingly, he would come into class the next day with organized notes, written in near-perfect cursive. How he did it, nobody asked. If they did, Ford refused to answer.   
They watched him stumble to open pull books from his bag, grimacing as papers spilled onto the floor due to his fumbled grip on what was binding them together. 

And now, they were watching him attempt to hold up a bottle of alcohol. 

This was a party for the theoretical club, something a student a few years back created. It was just an excuse for a bunch of science majors to gather in one room to speak about various hypotheses and theories.   
That’s where they met Stanford Pines, the arrogant, yet somehow shy, student who never took off his black gloves. 

He was fumbling through the various bottles to grasp his desired choice, nearly knocking it off the table.   
Y/n managed to grasp it just before it hit the ground.   
“Hey buddy, I think this is yours.” “Oh, thank you Y/n.” He grasped the glass bottle, offering an uneasy smile.   
“You know, if you took off the gloves, things wouldn’t slip from your hand as if they were covered in butter.” “That would be the reasonable thing to do.”   
He gave a curt nod before stumbling into another room. 

 

“You’re so into him.” “I am not! I’m just…curious about him.”   
Their roommate nudged their shoulder, the equivalent of possibly three sips of beer spilling onto the hardwood floor.   
“Oh shit-anyways. Y/n, what you need-“ they laughed quietly, a familiar action from them while intoxicated. “You need to get that hunk of a scientist in a closet, and just make out with his curious face.   
Y/n was caught off guard, nearly dropping the bottle in their hands. “Okay, what the fuck?” “Hey, it’s a wonderful idea. I’ll set it up. You watch out for your mystery man, Y/n. I’ll go work some magic.”  
Their roommate stumbled off, leaving you next to a puddle of beer. 

 

“Y/n, I never showed you that paper! I know it’s a party, but you’d love it!”   
The Vice President of the club dragged them down the hall, drowning in and on about fabricated details. “It’s all about the basics of parallel universes and what could possibly happen-“   
Y/n couldn’t hear them anymore. They were shoved into the nearest closet, the lock clicking softly. “You’ll be in here for about, like, 15 minutes. Make it count!”   
“You ass! Let me out!” They pounded their fists against the locked door, trying the lock once again. 

“Y/n?” 

They knew that voice. The way they said their name. The only difference was the confidence his tone held.   
That was the voice of Stanford Pines.   
“F-ford? I’m sorry, I’ll get us out of here-“ “hey, calm down a little. I don’t want to leave just yet.”   
His voice was so smooth, and they noticed the subtle slur of a few syllables.   
He was drunk.   
Stanford Pines, the straight A student who never missed class and answered every single question and left parties early once someone offered him a drink, was absolutely drunk.  
“Ford? Are you…how much did you drink?” “I’m not sure. A lot, apparently. Y/n, you look really nice tonight. I’ve been meaning to tell you that, but I was so preoccupied with not dropping every bottle in my hands that I never came to speak with you.” 

This newfound confidence sounded…more natural. He didn’t sound afraid or aggravated. He sounded relaxed. It was comforting.   
“Thank you, Ford. I’ve been meaning to ask why you won’t take the gloves off, if they’re such a hassle.” “Hassle? What is this, American literature? You probably meant a pain in my ass.” He gave a guarded laugh.   
“You wouldn’t want to see my hands. It’s better to keep them on.”   
Y/n was confused. Perplexed as to why someone would be hesitant to reveal their hands. A regretted tattoo? A burn? Any scenario they thought of, the ending seemed fine.   
“Ford, I won’t judge you based on your hands. You’re still the same smartass Ford we all know and envy.”   
They shared a small laugh, eyes repositioning to his gloved hands. “Please? Maybe it could help you hold bottles better?” They tried to lighten the mood, but it remained somber.   
“You…won’t laugh?” “Of course not!”   
Ford avoided their gaze as he slowly pulled off the black gloves, relocating them to the floor in front of him.  
Y/n wasn’t prepared for that.   
“Six fingers?” “Birth defect, but I never got them removed.” He refused any form of eye contact, to which Y/n offered a sad smile. “I’m glad you didn’t.”   
“Care to elaborate?” Ford tensed up at the remark, laughing nervously.   
“I think it’s really cool! I can’t believe you never showed us this, it’s awesome!”   
A small blush formed on his cheeks as he answered. “I…didn’t expect such a positive reaction. The only person who agreed was S…” he trailed off before he could finish the name.   
“My friends call me Sixer. Seeing as how nobody does, that really says something, doesn’t it?”   
In the dull light, Y/n could see tears in his eyes.   
‘He’s a sad drunk, or this is really personal. I’m going with both.‘  
“In that case…can I, call you Sixer?”   
Ford wiped his eyes, staring back at them with an astonished expression. “You…you want to…” “Well of course!”   
His mood dropped drastically in a matter of seconds. “If it’s because you want me to do your homework, I’d rather just do it as business.”   
“What? Ford, I’ve got A’s, I’m in no need of academic assistance. I just want to be your friend, if that’s okay.” 

Ford stumbled into their embrace, a warm smile on his face. “I’d love that.” 

At his reply, their face automatically turned red. Heat resonated from their cheeks.   
The moment was ruined as soon as Ford pulled back and threw up on the floor between them, including his gloves.


	2. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finals are getting close, and Ford needs to come up with a solution quick.

Ford had a big problem. 

He only had one pair of five-fingered gloves. And they were completely ruined.   
He didn’t have time to buy another pair, nor did he want to. That meant having someone see his hands. Those gloves were from his brother. Well, he technically stole them, but they were still his brother’s. He couldn’t just buy another pair.   
He couldn’t make another pair either. He didn’t have any idea how to sew, or to knit, or anything remotely close to it. He could do stitches, but that wouldn’t work. He was stuck. 

The only other person who saw his hands was standing outside his dorm, nervously knocking on the door.   
“Hey S-Ford? You missed class for the first time in, like, forever. I’m worried.”   
He considered his options.   
He could hide in his dorm like a coward until they left, ultimately crushing any chance he could ever have with them, yet avoiding the problem he could only put off for so long.   
Or, he could open the door and talk with them, possibly solving the issue.   
Or he could jump out the window and stay in the bushes until the night and rob a clothing store, possibly breaking his leg and ultimately getting arrested if he was caught. That seemed better than someone seeing his hands.” 

He chose the least appealing. 

“Oh, Stanford, I was getting worried. Are you okay? Are you sick? Was Friday a little much-“ “come in, please.”   
They slowly walked inside, taking in the surroundings.   
Piles of books were stacked against the wall, coffee cups and bottles of headache suppressants scattered across the small table in the room. “I see you take hangovers well.”   
They exchanged hesitant laughs, Y/n’s eyes landing on his attempt to shield his hands within his pockets.   
Y/n attempted to switch the subject to the issue they came here for.   
“Are you okay? Ever since Friday you haven’t even left your dorm.”   
Ford’s breath hitched. “How...how would you…how did you know?” 

They immediately tried to find an excuse. “Well I just pass by here on my way to class and I figured I hadn’t seen you and nobody else had so I thought-“ “hey, I was just kidding. It’s okay.”   
He hesitantly rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m alright, just a little…sick.”   
He took a seat at the table, motioning for them to sit in the chair beside him. They complied, listening to the wood speak. 

Up close, Y/n got a good look at his face.   
He had dark bags under his eyes. His lip was rubbed raw. They always noticed that he bit his lip when he was deep in thought. 

“Ford, somethings obviously troubling you. Your lip is practically chewed off.” “It’s nothing I need to burden you with, Y/n. Thank you for checking on me, but-“   
“It’s the gloves, isn’t it?”   
Ford went silent. He didn’t want to explain that it felt weird to feel normal, it didn’t make any sense to anyone but himself. At least, that’s what he assumed.   
“Yes…I, well, I don’t want to go through college being called a freak every day. It drives me insane, more so than usual.” He forced a laugh. “I just want to…I need to look like everyone else.”   
“Ford, everyone else here is such a loser compared to you. Your hands are spectacular. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with them. You’ll go on to do amazing things! These guys? They’re just getting a degree so they can find their way to a decent job.”   
They delicately encased his hands within their own. He tried to move them, but Y/n’s grip was much too strong.   
“Stanford, nobody worthwhile will call you a freak. If they do, they’ll have to go through me.”   
That sentence struck a nerve, but he quickly relaxed. The contact felt nice. He was accustomed to itchy gloves and pens on his bare hands, not another’s warm, soft skin.   
“Y/n I…thank you. I’m not sure if I’m comfortable leaving just yet, but-“ “hey, don’t worry about it. I already got your notes for our classes. They’re legible, at least. I didn’t write them with two fingers taped together.”   
A joke, but a poorly timed one.   
“I’m sorry, I-“ “no need. It was funny.” He smiled, flashing a neat smile. “Thank you. How many times will I be thanking you today?”   
They both laughed, realizing they were still maintaining contact. Y/n went to pull away, but Ford didn’t let go.   
“It’s okay. This is nice.”   
This had been the first time he’d been this close to someone in a long time. He’d brush up against someone occasionally, but never maintain anything.   
Contact was nice.   
“Ford, can I…can I kiss you?”   
He was taken aback. Now that was a little much.   
“Could we just…stay here for a bit? I don’t want to rush into anything right now.”   
They nodded. Disappointed, they simply kept their hands laced with his, a sad smile decorating their features. 

 

Ford actually left his dorm for once. As it was nearing the winter break, he realized he had to show up to classes if he wanted to pass his midterms. He might be a genius, but he still needed notes. He needed something tangible to study.   
Instead of exposing his hands, he wrapped them in bandages. He didn’t allow anyone to ask about them, he simply bandaged them to appear as though he had five fingers. His notes only looked worse.   
Y/n sat next to him on the rarest occasion, scribbling down notes for him.   
“You don’t have to do this.” “I will until you unwrap those hands of yours. I'll defend you if anything happens, Sixer.”   
The nickname made him smile as he watched them write. 

He had a solution for the final. 

He sat in the very back with nobody around him. Ford uncovered his right hand just enough to allow him to write. Just so it was legible.  
Y/n kept an eye on him, a dull smile on their face. It was a step. Not a very big one, but a step closer nonetheless. A warm feeling resided in their cheeks.   
It took him maybe ten minutes to finish before he slammed his hand in his pocket. He handed in the papers, frantically leaving the hall before questions could arise. 

Y/n caught him after class on the way to his dorm. “Hey Ford!”   
He considered the different motivations for conversing with him. Possibly an opinion on the difficulty on the exam. Possibly another bombardment of pleas to unwrap his hands.   
Both were disproved. 

“I saw you unwrap your hand during the Bio final.” 

His face flushed bright red. He fumbled for his keys in a weak attempt to escape into his room. It was no use. With only four working fingers, he couldn’t operate the keys as well as he wanted. 

“Well I-you see I had to-I didn’t-“ Y/n clasped his shoulder, a warm smile on their face.   
“I’m proud, Ford.” 

He mirrored the expression.   
Ford immediately wrapped his arms around their form, pressing his chest to theirs. 

The action surprised Y/n. This was the most he’s ever done. They held hands twice. Nudged shoulders a few times. This was…new.   
“Thank you.”   
His words were muffled by the many layers over their body, but audible.   
They pressed their hands to his chilled back, laughing lightly. “Anytime, Sixer.” 

 

He didn’t expect a knock on his door on such a holiday.   
It was December 25th. Christmas. He rarely celebrated these days, because he had nobody to celebrate with. His brother was hell knows where, his parents were preoccupied with work and their father’s health, and their younger brother was…who knows.   
Stanford didn’t have many friends. He spent holidays alone.   
This was astounding to him.   
“The door is open.” “Close your eyes, Sixer! Prepare to be amazed!”   
Y/n’s chipper voice rang through his ears, sugary sweet. Their presence always seemed to brighten the usually somber mood.   
“Y/n, why would I-“ “just do it! I have a surprise!”   
Ford groaned loudly, closing his dark eyes. “Okay, they’re closed. What is it?”   
He heard the door open, and light footsteps approach him. A flat surface was placed in his lap.   
“Open ‘em!”   
His eyelids receded, revealing a wrapped box in his possession. It had graphing paper with various formulas instead of any paper too colorful, much to his pleasure.   
“And this is…?” “A present, dumb-dumb! It’s for you! I made it myself!”   
He smiled down at the gift, then up at the creator. “Thank you Y/n, but you really didn’t have to-“ “oh shush, just open it!” 

Ford carefully pulled back the paper, opening the cardboard flaps. He adjusted his glasses to see what he was holding.   
Inside was a pair of black, knitted gloves. They looked like his old pair, but much more…comforting.   
“Y/n, what is-“ “count!” 

Count? What could they possibly…

Ford pulled one of the gloves out, slowly placing it on his hand.   
Six fingers instead of five.   
He could move much more fluently. His smile only brightened. His hands were covered, yet exposed. They were warm. 

“Do you like it?”   
Y/n’s hesitant voice broke his concentration.   
“Like it?”   
Ford sprung to his feet, encasing Y/n’s face within his gloved and exposed hands. In a second, his lips were pressed against theirs.   
The kiss was much more passionate than expected. Warmth radiated from him like a fireplace.   
He pulled back with ecstatic laughter. “I love them! Thank you, Y/n.” 

They stood in front of him in utter shock. He just…kissed them. Without a warning. Just…suddenly. 

“Y/n? Come on, say something here.” 

Worried he just ruined everything, he opened his mouth to apologize.   
It was quickly shut with another’s on top. 

It lasted much longer as their lips encased each other’s, their hands tangled in Ford’s dark hair. His gloved hand resided in the small of their back, the bare one on their flaming cheek.   
His tongue grazed the bottom of their lip just as they pulled away. 

“I’m glad you like them, Ford.” 

He offered a bashful smile, realization quickly slapping it off his face. “I-oh dear I-I haven’t gotten you anything.”   
“Ford, come on, you don’t need to-“ “not an option.”   
Y/n watched as he quickly pulled on a sweater, along with the other glove. “We are going out to that little cafe on campus and getting some coffee, and we are going to spend Christmas together. I hope that suffices.” 

Y/n was bright red, stammering over their words. “That’d be wonderful-I don’t want to impose-I don’t even have my jacket-my roommate has their-I really don’t want to go back in there-if it’s too much trouble-“ “Y/n, take a breath.”   
He opened his dresser and pulled out another sweater with “Glass Shard Beach” on the front, handing it to them. “Just wear this! Well, if you want to-“   
By the time he was finished they already had it on, taking in the familiar scent of cologne and, oddly, parchment.   
“Gladly. Now let’s go have a nice Christmas.”


End file.
